


What happens in Kirkwall...

by legendofthedwelf



Series: The Qunari's mad crush on Cullen [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Biting, Blushing Cullen, Bruises, Claws, Creampie, Cullen got fucked, Deflowering, Double Anal Penetration, Fantasizing, Gangbang, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Mage-Templar Conflict, Manhandling, Motivational Speeches, Multi, Nervous Cullen, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Soreness, Virgin Cullen, covered in cum, dubcon, kinkmeme fill, no communal baths for a months, not so virgin anymore Cullen, slight Fear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthedwelf/pseuds/legendofthedwelf
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme. The Arishok demanded to see the Knigh-Captain. Cullen reluctantly admits that the outcome was much sweeter than he expected....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written for two kmemes, and because I got frustrated by the IMMENSE lack of Qunari/Cullen fics. 
> 
> First [kmeme](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14317.html?thread=54253037#t54253037) asked for a Qunari/Cullen gangbang,  
> second [kmeme](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16500.html?thread=63410036#t63410036) asked for someone shoving their dick down Cullen's throat in various settings, and I just went with the gangbang theme, because Cullen in a gangbang is what I need in my life. 
> 
> Beta was the wonderful [Knight_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_Song), who has an amazing Trev/Cullen Femdom fic which I recommend you to read if that's your cup of tea. Don't be put off by the mpreg tag: until now there isn't any mpreg at all so you can enjoy 160k words of awesomeness at your leisure.

The Arishok wants to speak to the Knight-Captain. 

 

The _Arishok_. Wants to _speak_. To the _Knight-Captain_. To _Cullen_. Because Cullen happens to be the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Kirkwall, which is probably about to be invaded by the Qunari. By the Arishok. Who wants to _speak_...  


"Maker preserve me..." Cullen murmurs as he and his templar guards stand in front of the Qunari compound. The demand of the Arishok is ridiculous. The entire situation is ridiculous. Tensions in the city are ramped high enough as it is, no need to antagonize the Templars as well. Not that the Qunari would actually care about that. But Cullen can find no reason as to _why_ the Arishok wanted to see _him_ of all people. Not Knight-Commander Meredith, not City Guard-Captain Vallen, not even the Viscount himself or Hawke for that matter, no, he wanted _Cullen_. 

 

"Knight-Captain, should we go in?" asks one of his lieutenants. 

 

Right, of course. Cullen and his guards are literally standing _right in front_ of the compound. Stalling won't help him, no matter how much he wishes it would. 

  
Squaring his shoulders and willing his face into a blank mask, he walks towards the gate guard, his Templars following behind. 

 

"Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford," he introduces himself, "I received an invitation from your Arishok." 

 

The Qunari guard nods at him, and then gestures towards his sword. 

 

"You may enter, Knight-Captain, but your weapon and your followers will stay behind." 

 

His Templars bristle at the order. He can practically feel their indignation directed at the guard, and he would smile proudly if he wasn't busy hiding a grimace. No warrior likes being separated from his weapon. Especially when going into the encampment of potential enemies.  

 

"I will send my Templars away; my sword and shield stay with me." 

 

"Knight-Captain-!"   


"The Arishok has demanded to see the Knight-Captain,” he admonishes the men beside him. “And I will meet him as such. My Templars will leave, my arms will stay with me."

 

_Rutherford_ _, just what in the Maker's name are you doing?! Bargaining with a Qunari?_ Cullen stands with his head held high, his voice commanding and his posture oozing authority. Inside, he's shaking like a leaf in the wind. He fully expects the Qunari guard to strike him down right there, if the intensity of his glare is any indication towards his current mood. Stoicism on them is already scary, but having to be on the receiving end of one of those glares... Cullen dearly hopes that he doesn't piss off the Arishok. Even more, probably. 

 

But the guard nods in acquiesce, and pointedly looks towards his entourage. Cullen turns around to see his men glaring at the guard, their hands near their swords and bodies in a defensive posture. They are trained well, and he acknowledges their readiness to protect with a firm nod. But they still need to leave, although even the word of their superior has them hesitating to leave him alone. The Knight-Captain looks them all straight in the eyes, his second command of "Leave." not allowing any further disobedience. 

 

When they have all disappeared from sight Cullen allows himself an inaudible sigh of relief before turning back towards the den of the lion. Den of the Arishok. _Maker give me strength_.

 

**DA:2**

“Knight-Captain,” the Arishok greets him, the deep gravel of his voice creeping up Cullen’s spine. He has to suppress a shiver. He never actually met the Arishok himself, only occasionally had he even had contact with some of the ordinary Qunari. It’s still a mystery why he’s actually here.

“Arishok,” he replies with a Fereldan salute because at least that is familiar to him.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Cullen dares to look up to find the Arishok simply looking at him. Odd.

The Templar straightens and tries not to fidget under that intense gaze.

He tries to subtly examine his surroundings, the Qunari warriors with their red war paint standing alongside the outer walls, next to the massive throne their leader is sitting on.

Just- why. Is. He. Here.

“I have researched this city.” The Arishok speaks so suddenly that Cullen barely manages to hide his jump, snapping his eyes to the Qunari. “The city guard and the Circle of Magi. The Templar Order. All corrupted like every citizen of this low-minded, unruly bog.”

Cullen frowns at that, retorts and protests on his tongue, but he reins them all in. For now.

“Especially the Templars. Their one duty is to contain their mages, their _saarebas,_ and they utterly fail at that.”

“With all due respect-“

“There is no honour in this miserable excuse you call a city. You pretend to do your Maker’s work, and yet you demean yourselves and do not even see it.”

Now he is getting angry. How dare this Qunari judge the Order when he knows nothing of its working!

 “Arishok-!”

“But you are different.”

“…What?”

“Do not make the mistake of believing that I know nothing of this city, human. I may believe it to be past recovery, but that does not mean I have not gathered information on its leaders. I know of you, of what happened to you at the hand of demons and blood mages.”

Cullen feels like shards of ice push into his very being. How does he know that? How did he get that information? True, it is no secret in the Gallows, but there is no way that it could have reached the city, is there? Maker, how many know? Who can hurt him, hurt the Order with that knowledge?

_What is he here for?_

“And still you do your duty without judgment of your charges. I do not agree with the lenient way your mages are being treated, but I can recognize a man who follows his duty without hesitation, despite experience that might weaken his resolve.”

_He cannot mean… what does he mean?_

“You know your place, Knight-Captain, your purpose, and you strive to fulfil that role. You do this with the willpower of a Sten, a warrior of the Qun. You are wasted on this city.  The Qun would be a better place for you.”

 “I beg your pardon?!” Cullen cannot contain himself any longer. Though he does shrink back from where his hand has fallen to his sword as every Qunari looks at him with their unreadable eyes. _You really should not provoke the Qunari_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hawke’s rings in his head, _they will eat you alive._

“Arishok, I, is that-, well, is that why you, ah, asked for me to come…here?” Dammit, he is the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and still his voice is as weak as a kitten’s.

“Yes.”

Well. Good to know.

_Or not!_

“Ah, well, I’m honoured, really-“ Shit shit the Arishok has narrowed his eyes at him, and did he change his posture? Where does he keep his weapon? Is Cullen about to be struck down because he won’t convert?

Nevertheless, he pushes on. “But I cannot accept your offer.”

“It was not an offer, human, but a choice.”

“Ah, well,” Cullen knows that he really ought to speak with respect and reserve, because while the Qunari don't handle politics like the rest of Thedas, mainly through opulent festivities and The Game, they still should be spoken to as if they are nobles. Just to placate them. Make sure he doesn’t lose his head.

But he never has been particularly good at humouring nobles, and The Game is utterly lost on him. Thus he can't bring himself to soften his words, to make sure he isn't being insulting.

“I really don’t want to convert to the Qun.” He is blushing. Cullen just _knows_ that his entire fucking face is on fire and it’s not due to the heat of the Free Marches, oh no, nothing as ordinary as the weather, it’s this bloody situation!

“Why?”

“Because my duties lie here.”

The Arishok glares at him and Cullen swallows, shifting his weight to both his feet and clenching his hands tightly together behind his back. Maker, did the Arishok really think that he would convert that easily? Was that the entire reason for calling him here...?  
  
"Sten, take care of the Knight Captain tonight. Be accommodating, and don't hurt him. Show him the most pleasure you all can give him."   


_What._  

 

Several Qunari warriors approach him, flanking him and guiding him away from the Arishok, while said Qunari watches on with a- _is he pouting??_

"HUH?!?" 

 

"Knight Captain, you will spend the night among my men, who will take care of your suppressed desires in the most fulfilling ways possible."

 

_Taking care of my suppressed desires-_

"WHAT WHY?!?" 

 

The Arishok glowers at him from his throne, "Because I say so." 

 

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Cullen has the urge to laugh hysterically in the face of his upcoming _doom? Demise?_ _Pleasure?!?_ He tries to subtly shrug the arms off that steer him away, because no matter how terrified he is currently, he cannot allow himself to agree to this, though it seems that his consent here isn't really being asked. _Maker this can't be happening!_

 

"L-listen, Arishok, I'm-," _What does one say in such a situation? Flattered? Honoured? Mortified?_ , "-not sure I s-see the use of...of doing this...th-this-," Maker his stammering won't help him get out of this situation! "-of indulging in this....indulgence-," _I want to die._

 

"Knight Captain, this isn't up for debate." 

 

"I DON'T GET A WORD IN THIS?!?" 

 

"No." 

 

Cullen feels like his soul just decided to escape from his body, for he is watching himself from the outside, how his body is being lifted up by a Qunari, muscles rippling under the red war paint, and- sweet Andraste he is BEING CARRIED LIKE A SACK OF POTATOES! WHILE BEING IN FULL ARMOUR NO LESS!

 

Cullen contemplates fighting the hold the warrior has on him. His arms are free, he could reach his sword, he could also reach the Qunari's weapon and he is not far from the entrance to the compound, he could manage to run before any of his captors would get to him. Slowly he looks around, assessing his surroundings, calculating where an attack could come from should he break free. He lifts his head to look to the Arishok- 

 

And looks right into the grim and expressionless face of a Sten. His entire body freezes, his mind going blank. He is starkly reminded of the height and power these Qunari have, that same power he is soon to be subjected to regardless of his wishes, and he decides that escaping in plain sight is a terrible idea. He has a sense of self-preservation. He does. 

 

A shiver runs down his spine upon swiping his gaze up and down the warrior's body, really _looking_ at all that strength that he can't compare himself to. 

 

Perhaps this is the Maker’s idea of a joke, and at any moment Cullen will wake up in the barracks, sweating like a well-used horse, safe in his own bed.

 

Maker help him, because none of these Qunari will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best with the tags, though I probably still forgot some. If anyone's bothered in some way, come tell me and I'll fix it.

He is brought to a tent deep within the compound, so far in he cannot see the gate, and the Gallows tower is a smudge on the horizon. The Qunari who carries him deposits him there with a loud clank.

After some time of awkward staring, and a lot of terrified trembling on his part (which he _tries_ to suppress), the tent fills with more Qunari, all of them casting curious looks at the armoured human in their midst.

The Sten who has carried him here walks up to him and starts fiddling with his armour. Cullen tries to shy away from those hands, though they tug him back every time he subtly tries to inch away. In the end he only manages to do such a manoeuvre twice before a second Qunari moves to stand behind him and clasps his hands firmly onto his shoulders, effectively holding him in place.

They continue to fiddle with his armour, and then start yanking on the buckles, pulling him along because they won’t give in.

Cullen very much fears for his gear. Also, his body. Thick fingers start to pry apart the buckles joining the front and back plates of his plackart and that is enough for him, he can’t take it anymore.

“Stop it, you are going to utterly destroy it!”

The Qunari stare at him, their faces blank. And then they back off, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the tent.

_This isn’t awkward at all._ His gaze slides to the tent’s entrance where Qunari still block his escape, and he gets a warning growl for his trouble. His Sten (because that is the only person he can distinguish from the others) crosses his arms and glares at him, making him fidget.

“You do it.”

“Huh?” His startled response falls unbidden from his lips. If possible, his Sten glares harder.

“You take it off, _bas._ ”

His armour? He should strip himself now? How presumptuous of them, of the Arishok, to think that he would just agree to this!

“You do it, or we will.”

…alright, that is a convincing point.

“But…” He shrinks away as several Qunari take a step towards him, “Listen, you, you don’t have t-to do this, I, I’m sure we c-can find an, another solution-“

“Take. It. Off.” The words are as clear a threat as Cullen could imagine. Trembling, his fingers crawl over his vambraces, slowly taking off his gloves and bending down to lay them on the ground. Next, he hesitantly undoes his shoulder armour, going slower as his Sten approaches him.

“Keep going,” are the rough words uttered at the top of Cullen’s head. The Qunari simply stands next to him, observing his process. Cullen just knows his face is flaming red as he works on his chest plate, and he lets out an undignified shriek as the Sten works on his belt, loosening it and his entire armour comes tumbling onto the ground with a deafening clatter. Cullen winces in horror before he realizes that he is now left in his soft under tunic and breeches, and his flush crawls up and down his ears and neck. He has the ridiculous urge to hide himself away from these intent dark eyes that watch his every move, even though he isn’t even naked.

_Not naked yet,_ an unhelpful voice in his head supplies, again sounding like Hawke.

He makes no move to undress any further, his eyes furtively searching for possible escape routes, as he toys with the hem of his tunic. The minutes creep by.

Before he can make any genuine assessments, a Qunari makes a frustrated noise, stalks up to him to loom over him (these beasts are _really_ tall, and broad with all that strength rippling beneath their muscles) and takes a hold of his tunic. _Surely he won’t…?_

With a hard yank and the terrifying sound of an almost-rip his tunic goes over his head, only to be tossed somewhere in the general direction of his armour. Cullen’s arms ache with the force of the Qunari’s tug, and he crosses them protectively over his chest, to safe at least a bit of his dignity.

The Qunari simply _stare_ at him. No one moves towards him, no one says anything, they are only _looking_ which unnerves Cullen even more than the entire situation.

Some Qunlat is exchanged between them; Cullen doesn’t know what they are saying, which isn’t really helping his nerves. He isn’t sure he wants to know, either. They could be planning how to best roast him with how hungry they look at him, or how to best kill him, _or how to best fuck you until you cannot stand straight tomorrow-_

_Maker take you, Hawke!_

When his Sten reaches out towards the hem of his breeches, he makes a low sound of denial and stumbles away, but big hands clasp onto his shoulders again and hold him fast. He starts struggling in earnest now because when he loses his breeches then this will be all very real and Maker, he will not be a plaything to these beasts, _he will not!_

Conviction alone doesn’t really safe him, not against the combined and superior strength of his captors, so he is soon as naked as the day he was born. And once again they all just _stare_ at him as if they’ve never seen a naked male body before.

A horrendous thought flies through his head: maybe Qunari are completely different built than humans? Maker, what are they hiding in their trousers; are those stories true that he had to confiscate from the Circle, about weirdly shaped organs and tails and-

Clawed fingers brush over his chest and he can’t hold back a shiver at the unexpected touch.

And then he is firmly pushed down, his knees scraping the ground painfully before they turn him on his back.

_No, this can’t be happening!_

Naturally, Cullen struggles. Protests fall from his lips, ranging from “You can’t do this!” to “Stop!”, to anything he can fling at them, but they meet deaf ears and he ends up with a Qunari kneeling at his head, a grey hand keeping his hands pinned above him, and another one trying to part his legs.

Their holds become bruising as he continues to struggle, as his knees are forcefully pushed apart. A Sten settles between them and brings a slick finger to his entrance.

Cullen stills. The growl that the Qunari between his legs lets out sounds very dangerous, enough to make his body freeze in apprehension.

The finger slowly pushes in, and an uncomfortable grunt leaves his mouth. Clawed fingers on his knee press the skin painfully together and he fights against their hands. He wants to kick out. He wants to scream and run away.

He wants it not to hurt, because that would remind him too much of Kinloch.

Then, suddenly, there is a change around him.

The Qunari seem to have realized that he is not used to this. The fingers become gentler, their hold on him loosens. At the very beginning Cullen has noticed that almost all of the gathered Qunari have claws, a realization that has sent a spike of fear through him. He very much has worried even more about his health for several moments, at least until the Sten currently between his legs approached him, pushed him down and brought his _blunt_ finger to his entrance.

Now, he is somewhere stuck between discomfort and pleasure. One rough finger pad probes inside his ass, getting him used to the feeling. He wants to squirm away from the intrusion but his arms are still held above him in a firm grip. It isn’t _unpleasant,_ only completely foreign, though the entire situation he is in doesn’t give him reason to relax his body, which he _knows_ he should do.

So he wiggles restlessly, his nerves ramping higher and higher while the finger inside him slowly works itself deeper, until it lightly brushes a place that has him gasping due to the unexpected spark of pleasure that races up his spine. His cock, up to this moment flaccid, twitches. What in the Maker’s name _just happened?_

The Sten pauses, lifting his gaze from where he had been concentrating on his hand towards Cullen’s face. The dark intent, mixed with surprise, has the Templar blushing furiously and attempting to hide his face in his arm, eyes clenched shut. Qunlat words are being spoken again, the language foreign and clunky to Cullen’s ears, and suddenly the light from the lanterns in the tent is blocked. Cullen really doesn’t want to open his eyes to see what has happened, until the finger disappears from his body. It is a shock, and out of reflex he pushes his legs together.

Large hands, _several_ large hands in fact, grip his knees, calves and thighs and drag them apart again. Cullen’s eyes fly open, his gaze drawn down his body, and he flushes at the heated focus he sees directed at him. Maker, all the Qunari in the tent flock around his lower body, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest and probably also his flush that extends now to somewhere to his nipples. And, of course, they watch between his legs, where his Sten brings his finger back to his entrance, freshly coated in slick. It is immediately pushed in, all the way to that special place inside him, his body spasming and his cock twitching as pleasure sparks through him once again. He can’t hold back a moan, a weak sound that catches the attention of the Qunari holding his arms down. A grim face with dark eyes appears in his vision, and a Qunlat word is being spoken that is clearly a command.

The finger inside him, which he hadn’t realized had stopped, moves again, with more precision and force, and Cullen’s resulting moan is louder than the first one. The grips on his legs tighten.

They continue from then on like this. His Sten moves only that one finger, and Cullen isn’t being touched anywhere else, but the sensations are still enough to let him see stars. His moans grow, not in volume but in frequency. Only when the finger is removed, coated once again in slick, and then returns with another in tow, does Cullen moan louder. The stretch is still too unfamiliar though; his body is tensing up again and the Qunari growl at him. Which isn’t helping at all! Whenever they speak in their language, or their grips on him tighten even more, fear jolts through him.

Suddenly a rough hand grips his cock, and his startled intake of air morphs into a sharp shout as a hot wet mouth engulfs the head of his dick.

“ _Maker_ ,” he cannot help but whisper. 

_You will spend the night among my men, who will take care of your suppressed desires in the most fulfilling ways possible._

Cullen is only now realizing that the Arishok did not threaten him, but gave him a promise.

All movement stops once again and Cullen lies there trembling, not knowing whether to move up into the mouth on his dick or down onto the finger in his ass or not at all; his body is pulled taut like a bowstring. His eyes are fixed somewhere on the tent’s ceiling though he can _feel_ all those dark eyes focused on him. Why, oh why are they watching him so intently? Why aren’t they simply taking what they want from him?

The feeling of a tongue moving around his dick has him gasping, suction drawing a whimper from his throat. A brush over that special place and he doesn’t know what kinds of sounds he makes, only that they seem to spur the Qunari on who are very intent on making him do them again.

He loses a sense of time, receiving pleasure he has never felt before and not knowing what to do about it. He isn’t lost in the sensations, he is too aware of everything around him; the sheer bulk of the Qunari, their carefully controlled strength, their claws, the occasional Qunlat which continues to sound threatening to him. Two fingers morph into three and the stretch is _so_ strange, too much and not enough. Fingers replace the mouth on his cock, calluses aggravating the sensitive skin and somehow not reducing his arousal in the slightest.

Suddenly, all touch withdraws. He lies there, panting, sweating, trembling, feeling oddly hollow. His eyes try to focus, on the Qunari above him, on his surroundings, on the Qunari between his legs.

_That’s a different one than before…right?_

Cullen’s brain takes a moment to process what it is he is seeing, but as soon as it does his body makes a futile effort in tensing up again.

“Wait, you can’t-!”

A choked off yelp escapes his lips as the Qunari slowly presses his slick cock against his entrance. He has been a fool, he knew that this is what would inevitably happen, but he has hoped, even while having fingers up his ass, that it would not.

His hands are still held above his head, and the only other touch he has is a big hand under his buttocks hefting him up so that the Qunari cock can slide better into him. And slide it does, Cullen feels more and more filled by the second and he cannot remember ever feeling like this. The dick inside him is hot, and rough, and _deep_ , deeper than the fingers were.

And those eyes are _staring_ again.

When he feels the Qunari still he lets out a relieved sigh. He feels weird, uncomfortably full, and twitchy. His hips squirm a bit, letting him feel more of the intrusion, and the Qunari growls at that and thrusts shallowly.

Stars explode behind his eyes, a loud moan punches through his chest, his cock jerks. Speechless, he stares wide-eyed at the tent’s ceiling.

_Maker, that was…_

He doesn’t have time to contemplate the _absolutely glorious_ feeling because the Qunari thrusts again, this time with more force and Cullen cannot hold back his moans for the life of him. The sensations are incredible, the pleasure mind-blowing, and it seems as if it accumulates with every twist, every push; every movement just sends him higher and higher until he claws at the arms holding his own down to keep himself grounded.

A specifically mean thrust has him arching his back and _yelling_ , his head knocking against his arms. He is close, he feels the pressure in his own dick but cannot reach down to grip himself. As the onslaught on that special place inside him continues, a few tears drip down the corners of his eyes, his moans getting more and more desperate. Frustrated, he looks down to where he is being tormented so and his entire body locks up, pulling a groan out of him and the Qunari.

No one has ever looked at him with such a focus, such intent as these beasts do. They watch him, closely, they follow his every twitch and flinch, every reaction is seen by them, his arousal and desperation is _seen_ by them.

Cullen feels the full body flush that’s spreading over his face, down his neck, to his shoulders. He can only squeeze his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to see how they look at him, their desire and lust so obvious in their dark gazes, so _honest_ and genuine, completely different from the demons at Kinloch Hold. And that is what sends him over the edge, the realization that this is not the Circle Tower: he has not been hurt, he has not been taunted – these Qunari don’t want his mind, his sanity, they don’t want to break him, they only want his body. (For whatever reason they do, he doesn’t want to know whether the Arishok has a why to this.).

Though unsuccessfully, he tries to stifle his cry of relief when he spills. His body is clenching around the Qunari who makes a wholly animalistic sound and grips Cullen by his knees and continues to push into him until he comes as well.

Cullen doesn’t have the mental capacity to actually think about the fact that someone just came inside of him, he only feels warmth and satisfaction. He does shiver at the unpleasant feeling of being suddenly empty, though.

He hears Qunlat around him again, lowly spoken but still rough and strange to his ears. The hands on his arms have taken to massaging them, going down to his shoulders and propping him lightly up for better access.

So that was sex. Certainly, the tales did not exaggerate.

Time passes fitfully while he lays half in the lap of the Qunari, the others still flocking around him, looking him over and occasionally touching him. At first, it it just simple grazes against skin, making him twitch and squirm for a bit, but as he comes down from his high the touches become surer, firmer, more insistent, rough fingers stroking over his nipples making him groan, claws grazing the skin of his hips and inner thighs, and suddenly there is another mouth on him bringing his dick back to life. He kicks out in surprise, his own hands scrabbling for hold at the grey skin surrounding him, but he can’t get away from the anew mounting pleasure they force upon him.

Slick fingers enter him again, with ease this time, and Cullen can _feel_ the wetness inside him being moved around, pressure upon his pleasure spot making him moan loudly as the suction around his dick tightens.

He is moving around and not really being restrained, so he slips off the lap he has been resting on, trying desperately not to get overwhelmed by it all.

The mouth slips off him and he can’t hold back his frustrated cry.

Turning himself onto his side he tries to escape the insistent fingers, though they won’t relent, stretching him, spilling slick and cum down his ass. He claws at the ground, moaning and crying out whenever that place is struck, sweat sliding down his face. Fingers tuck at his cock, pressing against the head and Cullen feels himself coming again, spilling onto the ground.

He feels boneless, as if he is floating. He is dimly aware of someone lifting his torso, a waterskin pressed to his mouth which he greedily laps at, grateful for it soothing his dry throat.

Suddenly they are pulling him to his wobbly knees, their hands on his shoulders holding him steady. He can't guess at what they want, at least until he finds a cock in front of his face. He just stares at it stupidly, perplexed, witless for a few moments. And then he hesitantly opens his mouth to lick.

It is a strange feeling, the somehow rough texture of the Qunari cock against his tongue, the thick vein that pulsed with every lick bestowed upon it. He can hear groans coming from the other Qunari in the tent, and he wonders, _do they take pleasure from seeing me like this? Seeing the Knight-Captain of this hated city on his knees like a whore?_ The thoughts distract him from his task, and he accidentally scrapes teeth over the flared head in front of him, which evokes a threatening growl from his captor who curls fingers in his locks to hold him in place. Cullen half expects him to start thrusting as a form of punishment, but nothing of the sort happens. The cock rests on his tongue, the head almost filling his mouth, but it is still, allowing him to explore on his own.

The warning had been clear though, so Cullen slowly licks again, trying to keep his teeth away. The more he swirls his tongue around, the more of the cock starts to fill his mouth, until it hits the back of his throat for the first time and he chokes on a panicked whine. His hands fly up, grabbing the grey hips in front of him which still at the sound he makes.

“Suck,” comes the low command from somewhere behind him and he is helpless to obey. Hollowing his cheeks and trying to will his mortification away, he gives an experimental suck and feels the Qunari tense, hips twitching minutely as if struggling to hold back. Emboldened by that reaction he sucks again, this time a bit harder and the fingers in his hair pull painfully.

Out of reflex he tries to swallow all the saliva in his mouth but chokes as that presses the cock to the back of his throat again. It seems that the action has snapped his captor’s control though, as the cock suddenly attempts to fill him with a hard thrust.

Cullen can’t help the anxious noises that pour from him as he suddenly cannot breathe, and stupidly he swallows again, black spots dancing in front of his eyes as his air dwindles and he chokes again. The Qunari groans loudly and practically rips away from him, and the rush of heated air that fills his lungs makes Cullen dizzy.

Hot wetness splashes his face, and he feels the same on his side, as his captors come. He doesn’t really notice, as he sinks back on his haunches trying to control his breathing. A cough wrecks his body, but otherwise he is strangely calm. The hands on his shoulders fall away, sliding down his back, claws causing faint tremors but not touching him in a suggestive way.

He wonders if that is it now.

Tough, in retrospect, he really shouldn’t have been so naïve. 

It is as if a flip has been switched. The moment they gave him to breathe is clearly over. The Qunari in front of him takes a hold of his shoulders and pushes him down so he is on his hands as well as on his knees. Rough fingers push into him again, brushing mercilessly over his poor abused pleasure spot. Firm hands glide over his body, holding him steady as three fingers are pushed inside his entrance. Moans spill out from his mouth, involuntarily and unbidden and he can’t make them stop. He jolts as his nipples are pinched and a squeal he _will_ deny he made escapes him. Maker, they have him completely at their mercy and could he see their faces he is sure he would faint from the lust shooting from their eyes.

Cullen can feel how his balls tighten for a third time, even though he has a hard time believing it. But he doesn’t get a chance contemplating it any longer because he’s pushed onto his front rather abruptly and the painful scrape against his peaked nipples has him wincing. And then a cock is pushed into him and _Maker_ this one is larger than the first one, even with all the fingers that have loosened him up before his poor attempt at a blowjob. Hands on his shoulders hold him down and one huge palm spreads out over the back of his neck and squeezes.

Fear spreads through him again, his body tensing up, and the Qunari inside of him groans with a dangerous growl underlining his voice. But Cullen felt it too, how his ass clenched around the dick inside of him, he felt the sheer size of it and it makes his own dick, which had softened a bit due to the pain, harden again. Just what are these Qunari doing to him?

The Qunari starts to thrust in earnest, pushing moans and shouts out of his mouth whenever he brushes his spot, which is, like, all the time. Cullen is desperately scrambling for something to hold onto to, the hands on him are holding him alright, but he feels like he’s going mad with pleasure and nothing to ground him. A particular well-placed thrust has him gasping out a “Mercy!” but the thrusts don’t stop. Though, through his haze he can make out growled Qunlat words, whatever they mean.

His eyes fly open (when did he close them?) when clawed fingers grip him by his neck and chin and force him upwards. For a moment he cannot breathe, his arms too uncoordinated and weak to hold him up, but then strong arms at his left and right hold him up He feels stifled, trapped in-between all this mass of muscle, his breath shortening in slight panic. He can’t bring his eyes to focus, and he doesn't realize what he is seeing until he feels the cock directly on his lips.

There is no way he could survive sucking a dick while being fucked by one at the same time. And yet, when a clever roll of his tormentor’s hips has him gasping and the cock in front of him is shoved into his mouth, there is a short moment when everything stops. He has a short moment to realize that he is being held tightly but not crushingly, the hands on his neck firm but not choking. He _can_ only breathe through his nose though, and it seems as if they won’t grant him more.

Slowly, they begin to move again, finding a rhythm between them, and he is caught between them, helpless in the face of their power and control, and Maker that turns him on! His dick feels impossibly hard, he is convinced that only the lightest touch could push him over the edge, and he simply lets go. They start to pound into him, carefully controlled so as to not hurt him too badly, and he relaxes his jaw so that the Qunari in front of him has more room to move.

Hands find his jaw, curl around his skull and hold him in place as his mouth is fucked as vigorously as his ass.

He has lost all concept of time by now. There is only skin, heat and pleasure. Calloused hands with claws, broad bodies with grey skin and red paint, hot cum sliding down his face, sliding down his body and mixing with sweat. He only knows the presence in his ass, the relief in his cock, and when the Qunari climaxes in his mouth as well he can’t even swallow everything.

He doesn’t know how he reaches his own end _again_ , after a third Qunari has taken him, just that when he comes to he lies on the ground, chest heaving, with cum all over his body and leaking down between his legs. 

Cullen feels as if his ass will forever be loose. The small break they gifted him, with water he practically inhaled, has calmed the fire within his body a little bit and as he rolls onto his back he becomes aware of every touch, twinge and twitch and _pleasure-pain and it is all too much, I can’t anymore, please, Maker, have them take mercy on me-_

A sob escapes him when he feels rough hands running over his skin, through the cum drying on his body, over raw and sensitive nipples and bruises that he knows will take a long time to fade away. One of his legs is lifted, up and away from the other one, and Cullen still has the capacity to blush at being so thoroughly exposed even after all that has already happened this night.

Three fingers push into him, gently but insistently, and spread him apart. A weak hand reaches down in futile protest and is batted away, grabbed and brought over his head like when all of this began.

More fingers join those already inside of him, two enter alongside three, and his hips jerk, away from the intrusion. It is _too much,_ he is _too full;_ they cannot possibly stuff him _even more_.

Scuffling and rearranging – he is dimly aware that his torso is being lifted from the ground and now pressed to a Qunari’s broad chest, his legs spread very much apart from each other and ankles held in big clawed hands. The fingers are still inside of him, stretching him apart and he wants to reach down and push at them, make them go away because he _cannot_ get it up again, but his hands don’t listen to him, they scrabble uselessly at the bodies of those who hold him up, over muscled thighs and abs and broad chests-

A cry tears from his throat when _another_ finger pushes into him, slick and cum and sweat sliding down his crack and onto the ground and they all seem to move into different directions and he will break, his skin will rip apart and he will die covered in Qunari semen, he is _certain_ of it.

And then, they leave his body and he is so glad for all but one second while his body is lifted higher when a cock pushes into him instead and he feels like weeping, “Please, wait, no-!” but they simply tighten their hands and push him down.

He feels dizzy, so dizzy and overwhelmed, he must be hallucinating, there can’t possibly be fingers next to the cock in his ass and more slick and then there’s a bigger intrusion pushing against his hole and _this can’t be happening…?!_

“Stop, impossible, you can’t-! No, wait-!”

Two dicks. They intent to push two dicks into him. Maker above, that’s physically impossible, is it not? And yet, here he is, helpless in the arms of these beasts and unable to do anything about that. They speak in Qunlat again, to each other presumably, and a hand reaches down to bring his own dick back to life.

That is the last straw.

Cullen kicks out, never mind the hands still holding his ankles, he needs to get away. The bright pleasure-pain of having already come three times rips through him, his body is tensing up and he starkly feels the impossible intrusion in his ass; his mind is overcome with panic, he will surely die, he lashes out at everything he can reach, arms hands faces horns, pleas fall from his lips, _stop please stop it’s too much I’ll die please Maker no!-_

Large hands on his shoulders, arms and knees, claws digging into his skin, his wrists held together and pressed to his own chest, one arm around his waist, stopping all movement from his hips, and one hand over his neck, tight but not choking, never choking.

A grim face, painted with red blood, next to his own and lips on his ear:

“ _Kost_.”

One word, spoken with command and surety, and he stops his flailing. His heart is hammering inside his chest, the panic and fear still coursing through him but he is safe, he hasn’t been hurt once during this entire affair and they won’t start now. He believes. He is gasping wetly, eyes wide but unfocused, though the calmness radiating from the figure at his back slows his pulse a bit.

“ _Kost, Bas_.”

_Kost_ , what does that mean? _Bas_ is what the Qunari call everyone except themselves, but _Kost_? He doesn’t know.

They all are still for a while. When the cocks in his ass start moving again an alarmed whimper is pulled from him, though the hand on his neck squeezes gently and the odd word, “ _Kost_.” is repeated again.

Inch by careful inch he is being filled again, wider than he ever thought possible, and it still is too much, he is still too full, though now it isn’t too sharp pain mixed with too much pleasure. Oh, the pleasure-pain is still there, and he whimpers and whines pitifully because of it, but it is there only _just so._

The arm around his waist tightens, the muscles shift, he is moved and with an animalistic growl both Qunari are sheathed within him, not to the hilt but close.

 Cullen trembles, from the sheer absurdity of it all as well as the feeling.

A hand touches his cock again and he protests, shaking his head. But they are relentless, stroking him until he is hard again. They start moving him, lifting him up on the massive intrusion in his ass and then dropping him down, growling at the sob he lets out, and then they are also thrusting again and it is all too much and not enough and suddenly he wants it over, he wants it done.

Tears slide down his cheeks and he wants _more._

The Qunari around him shift restlessly, adjusting their hold on him, clenching their hands too tight and pressing their claws deep into his skin and it all spurs him on more, he is moaning shamelessly, crying and yelling whenever they hit his pleasure spot or touch his cock, he is going mad with the pleasure of it all and he _loves_ it, utterly _loves it_.

The Qunari holding his neck pushes his head back while thrusting up inside and Cullen feels strung up and stretched too far, suddenly there are sharp teeth on his collarbone biting down with such force he can feel the skin break and he chokes on a scream.

A cock is near his mouth, his head turned so that the Qunari can slide right down into his throat.

He feels raw, wound up tight, only the smallest touch could tip him over the edge, he is _so close_ -

Calloused fingers tighten around the base of his cock, holding him back, denying him in the most cruellest way and his eyes fly open and he screams in anguish around the cock in his mouth, filled on all ends and from outside as well.

Dripping cum from everywhere except his own source he sobs as the Qunari withdraw from him, leaving him feeling empty and jittery and aching. The arm around his waist and the hand on his neck still hold him close to the Qunari’s chest; his legs are slowly lowered to the ground where they sprawl bonelessly and spread wide.

Cullen doesn’t care what picture he currently makes. He desperately wants to get off, he _needs_ to get off or he might scream.

And then he feels it.

The ground is lightly vibrating. Heavy footsteps can be heard approaching the tent. Dark claws push the tent flap open.

The Arishok stands in the entrance of the tent, an imposing figure staring down with dark eyes at Cullen’s shameful display of want.

The leader of the Qunari takes a step towards the Knight-Captain, and a thrill of fear jolts through his body.

His desperate cock twitches and forces a weak whimper from his lips.

The Arishok doesn’t kneel; he squats down and traces one clawed hand over the bite mark on his collarbone, the bruises on his shoulders, following the trail of punctures in his skin to his hips and to where he is violently throbbing, full of hot red need.

As a large hand replaces the one around his neck and pulls him away from the chest he was leaning on, the arm around his waist falling away, a low keening sound echoes through the tent, and only when Cullen is carefully but firmly dragged into the Arishok’s lap does he realize that the sound comes from him.

He was sure that nothing could be a snug fit inside him anymore, not after he had two Qunari cocks inside of him. He was _wrong_.

This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Cullen is a Templar, a warrior who trained his body ten long years to wield the Maker’s sword in his hand and fulfil His holy demands. He has faced down torture and demons in a tower overrun with blood mages and abominations and he has not broken, it has made him only stronger, harder and yet, here he is, helpless in the lap of a beast who holds him up easily with only one hand around his neck. He trembles before this creature, full of fear and lust, tight with need and sobbing in desperation, holding back the urge to come because of one simple command.

“You will not come, Knight-Captain. Not until I say so.”

There is no hand around his cock preventing him from tipping over that knife-sharp edge. Only words hold him back, make him take everything the Arishok intends to give him.

A thrust from below, and Cullen just wails from the sensations because the cock within him is _so deep_ , hitting all the right places. He feels precome dribbling down his dick and he forces the need back, tensing his body to stop himself from losing control. In answer to that the Qunari thrusts up harder, grinding against his pleasure spot and Cullen is overcome with desperation once again, his hands scribble all over the field of muscles in front of him in hopes of finding something that can anchor him.

He finds broad shoulders and digs his fingers into their meat, gets a growl for his trouble and shrieks as the thrusts pick up pace and ferocity. Sobs and wails fall from his lips, his arms slung around the Arishok’s powerful neck holding on for dear life, for his sanity. The pressure in his groin is too much, his need too great:

“I can’t anymore, please, please let me come, Ari-!”

A “No.” is the answer he receives, growled with a dangerous tone underneath that makes shivers run up and down his spine but Cullen cannot possibly hold back anymore, tears slide in rivers down his cheeks and drench his chest as well as the one he is pressed to. He tries to find a hold with his feet, though his knees barely touch the ground his captor is sitting on. His arms are too weak to lift him up, up and away from the unrelenting force that drives the huge cock over and over into his abused entrance.

He imagines the throne he has seen upon which the Arishok sat, the length of it and how small he would look like should he sit there. He imagines being brought before it as a prisoner, the Arishok glaring at him from above, imagines being thrown across is, presented to everyone who would come before the Qunari, imagines stinging slaps on his backside, imagines being taken roughly on it as a punishment, a rough command of “You will not come,” echoing in his ears as he struggled and wept though no mercy would be given to him…

And the Arishok’s hips don’t falter, they push on and on and on, _I need to, please, I need to come, please let me, oh please I will die, please_ -

Claws dig into his ass cheeks, hands hold his hips,

“Come,”

And Cullen screams to the Golden City and beyond as finally, finally he is being granted relief. White noise washes over him, the pleasure mind-numbing for its intensity. The Arishok fucks him through his orgasm, and continues well after Cullen has finished though the Templar can find neither air nor brains to protest, his body pliant and limbs utterly uncooperative so that he can only hang in the arms of the beast as it searches his own completion.

Only when he feels liquid warmth fill him, only then does his mind finally shut down, his eyes slide close and exhaustion takes him into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is self-indulgent canon divergence (slightly) because I just wanted Cullen to rant a bit, and I want Cullen to see that Kirkwall is a powder keg waiting to explode. So, have some huge-ass idolized Cullen monologue.

Somehow, Cullen expected to be wakened by a Qunari, thrown out of the compound with his clothes barely on and a threat that Kirkwall will be invaded tomorrow. Instead, he wakes up alone, on his back, sometime in the morning, judging from the cool air that drifts through the tent, and fully cleaned, which surprises him as well. Opening his eyes and looking around slowly he spots his armour on a rack, clumsily put there by hands which probably never had to put armour on a rack before, but the fact the Qunari tried calms Cullen. It might mean that they still hold some respect for him, and he doesn’t need to worry about being thrown out without his clothes.

He cautiously tries to move his body and groans as pain shoots from his backside through his spine. Maker, he _hurts._ Moving his arms isn’t better, his shoulders are sore and his wrists feel raw. His mouth tastes like ash and a headache blooms in the back of his skull. Memories come back to him, flooding his brain until he is flushed hot with embarrassment; he tries to squash the images down because he _really_ doesn’t want to remember what he’d been doing the entire night, and he’s also going to ignore how his muscles protest their forced movements as he sits up, as well as the sudden dizziness that threatens to push him down onto the bedroll again. The Qunari have given him water from time to time, but he hadn’t really eaten since yesterday’s lunch. It’s a wonder that he even managed to endure everything until the Arishok-

_Not going there, Rutherford, **not** going there! _

Cullen stretches his arms over his head and turns his head from side to side, and the popping of his neck isn’t terribly reassuring regarding his body’s current health.

A rustling at the front of the tent has him panicking, and then a disturbingly familiar face appears through the opening, followed by a gigantic pair of horns, golden adornments on pointy ears, dark eyes that travel along his body…

Blushing furiously, Cullen averts his eyes and looks down, remembering that he is naked and wanting to regain some kind of dignity-

His body is a battlefield. There are bruises _everywhere_ , and not just mild discolourations, oh no; dark, almost black hand shapes litter his body, from his ankles to his thighs to his hips to his wrists… A phantom touch around his throat and Cullen just _knows_ his neck looks equally horrible. Not to mention the scratches and bite marks and _Sweet Maker!_ his knees probably don’t have skin on them anymore.

His face must have been priceless, but all the Arishok says is “You’re awake,” and leaves again. In his place a Sten puts some food and an elfroot potion near the entrance and leaves as well.

_Well._

The food is nothing special: fish and some bread and water which Cullen guzzles down happily, but it does help against his dizziness. The potion relieves him of the soreness of his body and some of the deeper scratches and bites, but the bruises will stay for a long while.

Putting on his clothes and armour is tricky, as the weight of everything lets him feel the bruises more starkly, which also triggers his memories of the night and he _won’t think about that now!_

Steeling himself, and belatedly realizing that his sword and shield are not with him, he pushes through the tent flaps.

Every Qunari is looking at him. Like, _every single one of them._ They weren’t all there yesterday, right? That…wouldn’t have been physically possible for him. Probably. A lot of things he thought physically impossible were proven very much possible yesterday.

As he is standing there, his face very much aflame, the Qunari go about their business, whatever it is that they do throughout the day, though they still sneak glances at him. A lot of them are actually only curious (or as curious as a Qunari can actually look), some are even amused, and some look downright _ravenous._

_Right, time to get going._

As Cullen makes his way towards the familiar seat of the Arishok, who most likely intends to speak with him and who will most likely know where his weapons are, the gathered Qunari never once speak to him or touch him for that matter. They all simply stare. And Cullen realizes with a jolt that everyone in the compound most likely heard him last night. They all know what happened.

_I want to die._

The Arishok looks the same as he did when the Knight-Captain arrived yesterday. His face betrays nothing of what he’s thinking at the moment, and Cullen can’t say whether that’s a comfort or not.

“Knight-Captain.”

“Arishok.”

Cullen opts for relief that the Arishok doesn’t show any emotion right now.

“Have you thought about what we have talked about yesterday?”

_What._

_I DIDN’T REALLY HAVE TIME TO THINK ABOUT THAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!_

“Arishok, I-,“ he clears his throat, which is suddenly so dry again he could smooth stones with it, “I cannot leave the Templars.”

“ _Why?_ ” Cullen thinks he must be losing his mind, because the Arishok sounds shocked, of all things. “I have shown you something that your Chantry suppresses, in a way that makes you look healthier than the first time I have ever seen you. Why would you go back to where you are being oppressed so?”

A Qunari being indignant about oppression. Miracles do happen. Though Cullen cannot believe what he is hearing, because only a Qunari would think that it would take nothing more than one most fulfilling night of unimaginable pleasure to set his entire life aside and suddenly convert to the Qun. Ridiculous.  

“Arishok-“

“What is keeping you here, among the poison and corruption, when under the Qun you could have the directive that would suit you better?”

Maker, he is serious about this. It seems that the Qunari seem to understand as much about non-Qunari as those understand of the Qun.

“I, I want to change things. This conflict, I have seen what it could lead to. I was there when mages turned to blood magic because they felt they were treated poorly. But hardening their living conditions, supervising them at every step, treating them like they are not human – that is wrong, that is not what being a Templar is about. And Knight-Commander Meredith goes too far, I am aware of this. But I cannot run away from my duty. I have sworn myself to this cause, and it is my duty to stay and fight for it, no matter the cost. To prevent as much damage as possible. So that no innocent blood needs to be spilled. Neither mage nor Templar nor citizen.”

"And what is the purpose of your Order?"   


"Everyone is the Maker's creation, every human and elf and dwarf and qunari. Mages are the Maker's creation, and as such they deserve to be treated just like everyone else. The Templar Order doesn't wish to suppress mages, cage and chain them like dangerous animals. The Order wants to protect mages, from themselves and from the dangers of the Fade. A mage is being born with magic, they do not choose it, and so they have great responsibility, along with great power. The Circles are meant to teach mages, to let mages teach each other, they are meant to be a home where mages can live safely. Templars are supposed to support mages, to protect them, to make sure they can practice their magic without fear, a Templar isn't meant to abuse his power. 

 

And so much has gone wrong over centuries. One mage using blood magic means stricter methods for all mages, and of course the mages will push back when. The conditions here in Kirkwall are dire, for everyone. Too many brothers and sisters enjoy abusing mages, and too many mages want revenge on the Templars, but who can blame them, really? 

 

All Kirkwall suffers under this conflict. Every day sees it growing worse. The Chantry fails us when it chooses silence over action. So yes, Kirkwall is what you say it is, but to abandon the city now would make me a coward. And I am no coward; I will not turn away from these wrongs. They must be righted, and it is my sworn duty to do so!”

 

Throughout his speech the Arishok has sat still and silent. 

 

"And you truly believe you are the one do this all?”

 

"No. I have seen the horrors of blood magic, and no matter what I believe in I will make mistakes, decisions, unfair ones. I need to remain Knight-Captain, and I need to continue giving orders I dislike. I can't openly rebel against Meredith, because she will throw me out of the Order at once, and then I won't be able to change anything at all.  

 

I can't be the someone this city needs, but I will support anyone who could." 

 

Hawke flashes through his mind, and Cullen wonders why exactly he just told the Arishok all of this. He won't understand. Or won't care to understand. But maybe that was the freedom Cullen needed. The Qunari will not tell others what he just confessed. They will also not judge him, maybe call him naïve but nothing more.

 

The Arishok stares at him and Cullen returns the look determinedly.

  
He is quiet for a long while, unmovingly regarding Cullen from his throne. A throne, Cullen realizes, which he has fantasized about while being fucked at the same time- _WRONG THOUGHTS RUTHERFORD!_

“Basalit-an, Knight-Captain. You are worthy of respect. You are wasted on your Chantry. Your desire to serve would be honoured under the Qun, and in Qunandar, you would flourish. But you are a brave man, one who is willing to change what sickens your people. In Koslun's name, may you achieve that which you seek. Panahedan, Knight-Captain.”

“I…I thank you, Arishok.”

A Sten walks up to him and hands him his sword and shield. Cullen takes them and knows that everything has been said. He should take his leave now.

The Knight-Captain bows to the Arishok with a Fereldan salute, and leaves the Compound. As soon as the gate has been barred he lets out a long sigh, the tension in his shoulders dissipating.

“Maker, that was so weird...,” Cullen mutters, blushing at the memories and the evidences he can feel on his body. _No communal baths for at least a month, Rutherford._

But in the end it was good. Whether he has managed to convince the Arishok that Kirkwall is worth saving, or that he can change things so they shouldn’t kill him, it doesn’t matter. First and foremost, Cullen has reminded himself what the Order is supposed to be like. What he has pledged his sword to. And that no matter what his experiences are, no matter his nightmares and fears, not every mage is like Uldred. Some are like Hawke’s sister.

_Magic_ isn’t evil. It is the person that makes the decision to abuse their power, and this fact is not limited to mages, but Templars as well. And as Knight-Captain, it is his duty to fulfil the Maker’s wishes, to guide his fellow Templars on the right path again, to show-

“Knight-Captain?” The world stops. His heart stops.

_HAWKE!_

“What’re you doing here?” A blush shoots up his neck and covers his face to the tips of his ears, _this cannot be happening!_

“The Templars have business with the Qunari?”

_Of course that damned dwarf is also here!_

“Shouldn’t Meredith be here then?”

_Maker, why is **Anders** here?_

“Cullen, you’re really red right now, you alright buddy?”

That day, Cullen Rutherford was convinced that he died of mortification as the soon-to-be Champion of Kirkwall and his merry band of misfits questioned him as to why he was standing in front of the Qunari Compound without any guards and an almost worryingly red flush on his face. He doesn’t remember how he managed to escape them, but as he made his way towards the ships, back to his Knight-Commander and her paranoia, one thought manifested itself in his brain:

How was he supposed to explain what happened to Meredith?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I'm so proud of this filth. Pumped this out in a week and then took twice as long to edit it, fun times. It became a frikking comedy at some point, however that happened. But well, Cullen needs some good things in life. 
> 
> Should anyone want to follow a blog that is very very irregularly online and posts mainly Dragon Age and Supernatural stuff, here's mine:  
> [legendofthedwelf](http://legendofthedwelf.tumblr.com)
> 
> And a rebloggable link: [What happens in Kirkwall...](http://legendofthedwelf.tumblr.com/post/150635501399/what-happens-in-kirkwall)

**Author's Note:**

> “We’ve all gathered here today to discuss the fact that I’d really like to fuck this fine specimen of a human.” – the Arishok, probably during this entire scene


End file.
